Chapter 24: Strange Company

  When Lily incanted [Town Call] again, the teleportation opened at the same spot it had the first time they arrived in Tiara. The runes of the circle flared to life beneath their feet, light spilling over the trees, and the familiar pull of displacement washed over them.

  When the glow faded, they stood once more in the small clearing near the lake, the same place where the cultists had camped before. The air was cooler now, the forest dark except for the gentle shimmer of the water and the faint glow of the red and blue flowers that grew nearby, the same ones that had shimmered softly the night before.

  Besides the dark, Lily could spot the warm glow of the [Campfire Stone] near the lakeshore. The cultists had already made a small makeshift camp, rough but functional, branches tied together, leaves and fabric spread out for bedding.

  Lily sighed quietly when she saw it and felt a small pang of guilt. She had, after all, thrown the cultists out of her mansion the day before—an enormous place with more rooms than she could ever use—and then left in the morning with Sevrin and Marie without much explanation.

  But really, did they think she would let them sleep on the forest floor forever? Then again, yes. They probably did.

  Lily paused for a moment, a faint heaviness settling in her chest. Maybe she was self-centered. But wasn’t she allowed to be, just a little? These people were the ones who had dragged her here in the first place. They had killed a merchant and his family for their summoning, and her along with them. She reminded herself of that, even if it didn’t feel as clear-cut as it should.

  When she had rescued Sevrin and Marie earlier, she had seen the fear in Marie’s eyes, and Sevrin, unconscious and pale, had looked more like a reckless boy than a villain. It was hard to see them in simple black and white now.

  Her eyes moved to the campfire again. The twins were sitting close to the flames, whispering to each other, while the tall one lay on his back, staring up at the stars. The youngest poked absently at the fire with a stick, lost in thought.

  Lily gave herself a small push and turned to the two behind her. “Come,” she said, her tone steady.

  Marie nodded silently and followed, supporting Sevrin, who still moved stiffly. Together, they stepped from the clearing where [Town Call] had dropped them and walked toward the camp.

  ???

  Garron was the oldest of their small group. He had spent most of his years as a mine worker deep in the Starfall Mountains, in a small border town that barely appeared on any map. Since childhood he had known only the sound of picks and hammers against stone. At ten, the system had granted him the [Miner] class, as was expected, since he had done nothing else his whole life up to that point.

  It was the way of the gods, he had always thought. Born in a mining town, live in a mining town, die there—somewhere beneath the mountains that never ended. His life was dull and hard but at least honest, and after a while he had made peace with that.

  But everything changed the day he met the twins.

  They had arrived in the back of a merchant’s carriage, a man crossing the Starfall range on his way to the Kingdom of Burm. The merchant came from Varnathi, bringing cloth, food, and other supplies, and leaving with ore and gemstones. Garron had never cared much for travelers. They came, they bought, and they left again. But that day he had looked up when the wagon stopped near the mine entrance.

  Inside the open carriage, chained and starved, sat two children—a boy and a girl, maybe ten or a little older. Their faces were pale, their eyes hollow, yet they still held each other’s hands, as if that small gesture was the only thing keeping them alive.

  It was the first time Garron had felt pity for anyone but himself.

  He had grown up unwanted, the bastard son of a prostitute and one of the old miners, though which one exactly, no one knew or cared. But even he had never been treated as badly as those two looked. Something about them had stayed with him, and when night came, he saw that the merchant was drinking in the only inn in town, while the two children were still sitting outside in the carriage, chained and silent.

  Garron hesitated for a long while before he moved. The mine had gone quiet for the night, only the faint crackle of the tavern fire and the echo of laughter reaching him from the distance. No one paid attention to the carriage or the two small figures inside.

  He told himself it wasn’t his business. Strangers came through all the time. Merchants, mercenaries, priests. People with slaves, too. It was nothing new. Still, his eyes kept drifting back to the wagon every few minutes.

  When the noise from the inn grew louder and the merchant’s voice carried through the open door, Garron finally stood up and walked across the dirt road. The air was cold, and the smell of metal and horses filled his nose. He stopped beside the carriage, uncertain what he wanted to do or say.

  The children noticed him immediately. They shrank back, pressing themselves against the far wall of the wagon, the chains clinking softly. Their eyes followed his every move.

  He raised his calloused hands slowly, showing them his empty palms. “Easy,” he muttered. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  They didn’t answer, only watched. The girl’s eyes were wide, the boy’s sharper, more guarded.

  Garron shifted his weight awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Who are you?” he asked finally, his voice low and rough from years of dust and smoke. “And why are you chained up in there?”

  For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the creak of the wagon and the muffled laughter from the tavern. Then the boy swallowed and whispered something too quiet to catch.

  Garron frowned and leaned a little closer. “What?”

  The boy lifted his head just enough to meet his eyes. “Because we’re property,” he said.

  The words sat heavy between them, and Garron didn’t know what to say.

  Sure, he knew the concept of slaves, but slaves in Burm were usually criminals, not children. His own life had been hard, but the thought of being called property had never crossed his mind. He was a free man—a bastard, a miner, and maybe not someone clever, but free all the same.

  Curiosity got the better of him. “Why?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “How? Isn’t slavery forbidden for kids?”

  The boy looked at him with the same distrust as before, while the girl only stared at the ground, still afraid to speak. Finally, the boy shook his head. “Not in Varnathi,” he said. “If your parents are slaves, you are too. All of you. Until the third generation.”

  The idea was new to Garron, and he didn’t think he liked it. Didn’t the Church of Light preach that every man had his own fate? That everyone stood equal before the gods? But what did he know; he was just a miner.

  He pulled a small piece of bread from his bag, what he had saved for his dinner, and tossed it gently toward the boy. “Here,” he said. “Tell me more. I’m… just curious.”

  And he was. He had never seen much of the world, never asked many questions, but something about those two children made him want to understand.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  At first, the children were cautious. They watched him closely, their hands still clinging together, but after a while, they began to speak. Maybe it was hunger, or maybe it was just the relief of talking to someone who didn’t treat them like things.

  That was how Garron learned their names—Sharen and Tristan. They were both born in Varnathi. For Garron, Varnathi had always just been a name on the border, a place beyond the mountains that no one from his town ever visited. But the twins told him it was a vast, militant state, forged by warrior clans who lived for battle and strength. To them, power was everything.

  Garron listened, fascinated. The way they spoke about their homeland, about the endless training fields and the iron laws, was unlike anything he had known. Then they told him more, the part that made his stomach twist. They had been born as slaves.

  In Varnathi, that didn’t necessarily mean a miserable life. Born slaves often lived under households and were fed and clothed, even if they weren’t free. But the problem was that they remained property. No matter how well they behaved or how skilled they became, they could never rise above their chains.

  When the twins turned ten, both awakened the same class; [Mirrorborn]. Garron didn’t really understand what that meant, but even he had heard of rare classes before. People with unique abilities were always in demand, bought and traded by nobles and mages alike. The thought made his chest heavy. These two had been given something special by the gods, and yet their fate was to serve someone else.

  They talked a little more, their voices quiet under the dim glow of the tavern lamps. The street was almost dark now, the town silent except for the wind through the wooden shacks.

  When Garron finally stood, ready to return to his dull, predictable life, he stopped halfway. Something inside him refused to move.

  And in that moment, his fate changed.

  He couldn’t just walk away, not knowing those two would live a miserable life, even worse than his own. Knowing they would never have a chance. Something inside him refused to let it go. He didn’t know what he was doing, or what exactly swirled through his head, but he knew there was no going back to his old life after this.

  But was that really so bad? Maybe it was time to step out of the rat race. He had spent ten years breaking stone for other men’s wealth. Maybe, just this once, he could break something else.

  Normally, Garron wasn’t the type to act on impulse, but something about this encounter had cracked open a part of him he didn’t know existed, a glimpse beyond his dull life, and the sudden chance to change something for someone other than himself.

  He turned back toward the wagon. “Do you want to be free?” he asked.

  He wasn’t even sure why he said it. Everyone wanted to be free. But when the two looked up and nodded, hesitant but hopeful, something in him settled.

  “Wait here a moment.”

  He ran through the empty streets, the sound of his boots echoing against the wooden walls, and reached his small shack at the edge of town. It wasn’t much—barely more than four walls and a bed—but it was his, bought after ten years of work in the mines. He stuffed what few valuables he had into a rough sack, dug up the small coin pouch he’d hidden under the floorboards, and ran back into the night.

  The carriage was where he had left it, the children still waiting in silence. Garron approached, gripping the handle of his pickaxe. He was a mountain of a man, broad-shouldered and packed with muscle, and when he drove the tip of the tool into one of the chain links, the wood beneath cracked sharply. With another push, the metal snapped free.

  He repeated the same for the girl’s chain, grunting as the final link popped loose. “We can get rid of the rest later,” he said, catching his breath.

  The twins looked at him, uncertain, their hands still bound but eyes wide with something that looked almost like hope. Garron gave a short nod and turned toward the dark hills beyond the town.

  “Come on,” he said.

  And together, they slipped into the night.

  …

  Six years had passed since that night.

  Garron lay on his back on the makeshift bed they had built from leaves and branches, staring up at the stars through the gaps in the trees. The air was cool, the lake nearby calm enough to reflect the faint glow of the moon. He wasn’t asleep, only resting, his thoughts drifting somewhere far away.

  Then he heard the faint rustle of movement from the woods. Instinct made him sit up. He turned his head toward the sound just as three shapes emerged between the trees. The flickering light of the [Campfire Stone] caught on golden hair and a flowing green dress.

  “The princess is back,” he muttered, rising to his feet.

  The twins stopped their quiet conversation and looked toward the woods. Also Marlon, who had been poking at the fire with a stick, lifted his head.

  Out of the shadows stepped an elf—their Demon Princess—her green dress catching the firelight in soft waves. Behind her followed Sevrin and Marie, both looking exhausted but alive.

  “I see you made yourselves a little cozy while we were in town,” the elf said, her tone calm, almost teasing. “Care to share the fire?”

  Marlon was the first to answer, sitting up quickly. “Of course… Princess!”

  Her lips curved faintly, something between amusement and something else. She stepped closer, the light wrapping around her elven form as a faint red glow began to rise from her feet. The air shimmered as the glow climbed slowly upward, spreading across her body. Her features shifted with it—golden hair fading into black, skin turning pale as porcelain, her eyes deepening into a vivid crimson. Horns curled elegantly from her temples, and her dress darkened into black and gold silk that caught the firelight with every step.

  By the time she reached the campfire, the elf was gone. In her place stood the Demon Princess once more.

  Garron felt his throat tighten. He had gone along with the flow for six years now, from a miner’s life to wandering with the twins, then somehow ending up in this strange cult under Sevrin. And in the end, they had actually done it, they had summoned her. A real Demoness. It still felt like a twisted fairy tale, and not one with a happy ending.

  The Princess sat down on a fallen tree trunk near the fire, her crimson eyes reflecting the flames. Sevrin and Marie followed quietly, both moving stiffly as if unsure what to say. The atmosphere was tense and heavy, the only sound the crackle of the fire and the rustle of leaves in the night wind.

  But the Princess didn’t seem to mind. “So,” she said finally, her tone calm but sharp at the edges. “Our trip to town was quite successful, wasn’t it, Sevrin… Marie?”

  Both looked up, startled, and nodded quickly.

  Garron frowned slightly. From the way they acted, it didn’t seem successful at all. Normally, Sevrin would already be boasting, talking the princess’s ears off about whatever half-baked plan he had next. But now, the kid stayed quiet, eyes down, shoulders tense.

  Something was definitely off.

  But besides the Princess, no one dared to speak. The silence stretched until the Princess tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable.

  “My, what a difficult audience,” she said at last. “Well then, actually, we brought back some supplies from the town.”

  With a casual flick of her wrist, several large bags appeared out of thin air and landed with soft thuds on the ground. Garron blinked. He knew what that was, an inventory skill. Only high-level merchants or mage classes could store and summon objects like that.

  Oh, this kind of trick would’ve made my life a lot easier back in the mines, he thought, watching the bags appear one after another.

  The others only stared, wide-eyed. Marie reacted first. “Princess… that wasn’t necessary!”

  But she shook her head, her tone light but firm. “It was. After all, you were somehow incapable of shopping.” She sighed dramatically.

  Even in the dim firelight, Garron could see Marie’s face turn red.

  Marlon leaned forward, curiosity already getting the better of him. “Incapable? Marie? Sevrin? What happened?”

  The twins turned their heads too, looking just as surprised. Garron didn’t need to ask. He already knew Sevrin well enough, if something went wrong, the boy was usually at the center of it. Still, he kept quiet.

  “It doesn’t matter,” the Princess said, waving one hand dismissively. “They can tell you later.”

  She shifted her attention toward the rest of them, her crimson eyes glinting faintly in the firelight. “And what about you four? I see you used your day to make this camp a little more… livable?”

  Before anyone could answer, she spoke again. “Ah, I’m starving. You too?”

  Without waiting for a reply, she reached into the air and pulled out a wooden table, setting it down as if it weighed nothing. A moment later, she placed food on it, freshly cooked meat, still steaming. She took a piece for herself, grabbed it barehanded, and began to eat without the slightest care for manners.

  The others watched in silence.

  The Demoness sat back down on the fallen tree trunk, firelight dancing across her pale skin as she tore into the roasted leg of some large animal. Her sharp teeth bit cleanly through the meat, the sound just barely audible over the crackling fire.

  It was a strange sight, almost absurd. Just yesterday, they had been crawling before her throne in fear, and now she sat beside them, eating like this, calm and casual as if they were all equals. None of them knew what to do or even how to act.

  Garron only stared for a moment, shaking his head slightly. For all the things he’d seen in his life, this might have been the strangest of them all.

  Then he gave himself a small push and walked over to the table. He hesitated only a second before taking a piece of meat for himself and returning to sit by the fire. It would have been rude to let the Princess eat alone, especially after she had invited them. Right?

  The Princess watched him, a faint grin forming on her lips. “It’s going to be a long night again,” she said. “We have some work to do. So, just do it like him—take some food, all right?”

  Her tone left no room for debate.

  One by one, the others followed Garron’s lead. The twins came first, cautious but curious, then Marlon, and finally Marie and Sevrin, who still looked unsure but obeyed anyway. Soon they all sat around the fire, eating in uneasy silence, the crackling flames and the distant hum of the forest filling the quiet between them. The night dragged on, strange and heavy, as the firelight danced over the demon princess and her unusual followers.

  I hope you had a nice weekend! (: